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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031391">homestretch of the hard times</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13'>safeandsound13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, F/M, Locked In, Sharing a Bed, basically a t100 fix it fic yep, canon divergent post s4, get in loser we're going hgtv'ing, this bitch needs a makeover montage and stat!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:26:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Me and you,” she echoes, holding his gaze, like somehow those two little words mean more than anything else they’ve said all night.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>He feels it too, in the way his pulse speeds up, and his throat starts to tighten, and his chest constricts painfully. At the forefront of it all, his admiration for her. Not just as his long lost co-leader, or the girl who saved them all. As a person. “You did a really great job, you know. Raising Madi.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You could tell that from all of the two minutes you’ve spent with her?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I don’t need to spend time with her to know that.” He licks his lips, hesisting, knowing the next thing he’ll say will start off the next conversation they need to have, “I know you.” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Her easier attitude from moments ago immediately deflates, and there’s a light tremble in her bottom lip, but to her credit, this time she doesn’t avert her eyes away from his. “It’s been a long time, Bellamy.”</i>
</p><p>After defeating Eligius and securing the Valley, Clarke and Bellamy stumble upon an age-old IKEA that decides to cave in on them. While they're locked in with a sea of Dagstorps and Fyrkantigs, they re-hash exactly where it went wrong.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>241</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>homestretch of the hard times</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorryiapologizesomuch17/gifts">sorryiapologizesomuch17</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>brooke really wanted a locked in ikea and forced to share a bed au, and then i remembered i wrote a fic once when they hadnt even discovered bread yet where clarke worked in ikea (MY FIRST BELLARKE FIC EVERYBODY AWWWWH!!!!) and i thought it be too boring like that so naturally i put the CaptainDaddyKru^tm spin on it. i hope she'll still like it tho</p><p>also the details of how they ended up in this situation are purposely vague cuz i honestly dont give a f lmao this ao3 plot lives to serve putting your ship in sexy situations destined to make them confess their luv</p><p>anyway enough talking -- ONWARD!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bellamy doesn’t know exactly what’s different, can’t quite put his finger on it, but every time he and Clarke are in the same room the air grows thick with an unexplainable tension. There’s something they’re not saying, might be afraid to say because it makes it all the more real, and he doesn’t know what to do, feels like everything he says or does just makes it worse. Puts more distance in between them, more than six years of time and literal space. It’s like living in a powder keg, one wrong word and it could set off the spark that blows them all up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought he did the right thing, trying to get her back from a group of criminal miners with nothing but a half-assed bluff and possibly wrongful faith in the fact the universe wouldn’t give her back to him to just take her away from him again now. Instead, after the initial relief of having him back in her arms faded, she just seemed angry with him. She won’t say it out loud, but he can feel it there </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> simmering under the surface. The impenetrable, rock hard, stone cold surface of Clarke Griffin. Her walls are up, and he’s no longer sure how to break them down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s been going over it for days. The group, led by some serial killer woman called Diyoza, landed on earth twelve hours before they did. Their group caught wind of their radio messages entailing they got Clarke, that they were holding her hostage. Bellamy got them to release her in exchange for the lives of 283 of their people. And then Raven did what she does best, have him press a button that dropped a bomb on top of their ship as soon as they were an inch past the blast radius.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as they got to safe grounds, Clarke locked herself into one of the cabins with Madi claiming exhaustion and spent the following days doing about everything in her power to avoid being in the same room with him alone. She was catching up with Raven, or showing Murphy how to set a fish trap. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as long as she didn’t have to be in his company. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(“It’s a lot,” Madi, too wise for her age, told him over a campfire as she handed him a quarter squirrel, taking mercy on him after two days of confusing misunderstandings and deep longing looks from across the camp, “Her brain is just trying to catch up with her heart. She just needs time.” He didn’t know if the metaphor was just a coincidence and he was being paranoid, or she knew more than she let on.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now it brings them here, eighty miles west of the valley chasing after equipment that might not even exist and with Bellamy not really sure where they stand. The concept of time hasn’t become any clearer to him over the past six years, and it’s the very cause of him being afraid to push it too much, afraid that if he does, he might just cause her to retreat further into her self-protective shell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of Raven’s drones buzzes above them as Emori masters it from her position on top of the Rover’s hood, brows pinched as she studies the screen meticulously. “We should be right on top of it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’ve found a few underground structures, remnants of the world they lived in before or perhaps older, one they never got to live in, that might hold the metaphorical key to being able to break his sister out of that bunker. Raven, Monty, Harper, Murphy, Echo and their new ally Zeke took the ship </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> exploring a promising ancient construction site over 300 miles south of the valley </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> and it’s only because of Madi’s insistence she wanted to go with Bellamy and Emori (and Clarke’s stubborn refusal to be separated from the teenage girl) that the four of them took the Rover west together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun is hot as it beats down on their faces, and Bellamy wipes a bead of sweat off the side off his face with the back of his hand as he stares out at the miles of desert stretching out in front of them. “How deep?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emori taps on the screen of the tablet in her hand, and when it’s been more than ten seconds, he finally braves looking over his shoulder at her. Unfortunately his gaze lands on Clarke first, jacket long forgotten inside the back of the Rover and revealing her creamy sunkissed skin, leaning against the side of the car on Emori’s right. Her eyes are almost the same color as the sky in this light, her short wavy hair pulled back into a small pony tail even though most of the strands have escaped and are falling into her face anyway. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stubborn, like her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks, with a wave of fondness before it’s replaced with something darker and uglier. It’s a long painful second before her eyes finally avert, obviously keen to avoid him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat awkwardly, eyes narrowing as an irrepressible wave of irritation starts to spread through his body. He directs it towards their tech, still doing the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘ignoring the elephant in the room thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ because it seems to be what Clarke wants most, his voice a bit rougher than necessary. “Em?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She barely seems to notice the difference in tone, or the sudden uncomfortable tension in the air as she finally looks up from the device in her hands with half a shrug of her shoulders. “About sixteen feet.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches the drone project a green circle on the sand, hands resting over his hips. Sixteen feet that might not be worth it. “What’s that, about two, three hours of digging?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emori smirks, hopping of the hood as she squeezes his bicep amicably. “With your guns? An hour, tops.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy rolls his eyes as he shoves her away lightly, turning towards Madi, whose pensive gaze flits between the two of them as Emori’s chuckle rings through the air, her thick brows knitted together. Halfway amused, he cocks an eyebrow, but Madi just shakes her head lightly, then pointedly thrusts out the biggest shovel in her hands to him. “Let's get to it, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An hour and a half, having emptied about a quarter of their water supply and having managed to get sand in places they don’t want to have sand, and Emori is kicking the toe of her boot against a shredded metal plate spelling out a faded ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>KEA’</span>
  </em>
  <span> in blue. She picks it up with her bad hand, and then Bellamy is throwing his shovel aside, crouching down to wipe off the last thin layer of sand covering the glass beneath them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is so cool,” Madi exclaims in awe, shovel thudding down at her feet like an afterthought, her long hair pulled away from her sweaty and slightly red face. With all her wise looks and sensible truth bombs of knowledge beyond her years, sometimes it was hard to remember she’s just a kid like all of them once were. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke uses the metal of hers to scrape off the last heaps of sand, then watches Bellamy over his shoulder as he cups his hands around the glass, trying to look in. For all the know it’s an empty building, raided before the first apocalypse. Maybe any useful equipment has long deteriorated beyond use, exploited by the grounders before the second apocalypse. Maybe there wasn’t even anything there to begin with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s too dark,” he grunts, disappointed, squinting at the darkness to no avail. He was really hoping to catch a lucky break for once in his life. “I can’t make out what’s inside.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only one way to find out,” Clarke mumbles, nudging for him to move aside before she rams the handle grip on the end of her wooden shaft into the glass. Once, twice, then it finally starts to show a spiderweb crack in the middle of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emori comes up on Clarke’s other side, using a big, square orange led torch to shine inside. About forty feet down, it reveals the top of big metal stairs, leading down somewhere darker where the flashlight can’t reach. It looks relatively untouched so far, no weird grounder graffiti or trashed surroundings. It still doesn’t solve the mystery of this place, nor does it answer any of their questions, but at least it’s something. There </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> be something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke sounds half-wary, still staring down into the dark empty fit in front of them. Her grip on the handle is tight enough for her knuckles to be pale. “Who’s going in?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to go,” Madi pipes up immediately, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, straightening her shoulders as if appearing bigger will somehow help her in this scenario. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not,” her mom — which is still an absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>mindfuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> — immediately cuts in, and the stern look she gives an obviously disagreeing Madi seems to be scary enough to block any further protests as well. He's keen to agree with her, mind flashing back to that parking garage, Lincoln charging at them. It doesn't seem likely, but they can't be careful enough. “We don’t know what’s down there. It’s too dangerous.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young girl’s nostrils flare, tiny arms crossed over her chest, and eyes dark enough to put the fear of God in Bellamy himself, but to her credit, doesn’t actually say anything. All eyes are now on Emori like an unspoken last cry for help, like it isn’t already painstakingly clear who is going down into the building. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emori lifts an eyebrow, looking too much like she’s stifling a smirk for Bellamy’s liking. “I have to stay here, </span>
  <em>
    <span>monitor.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke clenches her jaw, seeming to finally realize the only local conclusion here like the rest of them, but gratefully, hides most of her visceral objection. A dark cloud seems to form above them, air surrounding them suddenly awkward, making his skin prick in the worst way. It’s bad enough she’s mad at him for some reason, but other people knowing she’s mad at him makes it even more sickenly humiliating, especially when he doesn’t even know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Where’s the rope?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go first,” Bellamy says quietly, looking everywhere but at her. Rejection hurts, but there’s an extraordinary special sting to it when all he’s allowed himself to want for the past six years it to be back with her. Clarke, his — co-leader. Friend.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Best</span>
  </em>
  <span> friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Out of the corner of her eye, he can see her nod half-heartedly, having a silent conversation with Madi he can’t decipher. Weirdly, it almost makes him jealous. That used to be their thing. It’s too confrontational to think about what else has changed the past six years, in how many more ways she’s replaced him. In the meantime, Emori is trying to send him a message of her own as she tightens the knot on his hip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” he mutters lowly, narrowing his eyes. He’s not sure what the hell she’s trying to convey with the almost malicious smirk on her pursed lips and the challenge in her gaze, but he needs her to stop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say anything,” she retorts pointedly, brows drawn together skeptically as she swats him in the chest with her deformed hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Painfully</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Madi’s forehead is puckered at him strangely as Emori has the Rover lower him into the pit slowly, and he doesn’t know what her problem is with him, but he’ll have to make sure to ask Clarke about that while they’re on their mission. If she’s willing to speak to him, that is. He’d just hate for Madi not to like him because of something he’s doing, or something he’s said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The landing is a little harsh, but he doesn’t expect an apology from Emori any time soon. He waits patiently for Clarke to be lowered next, steadying her with both hands on her waist during the last of the drop. He helps her untie the rope from her body, their fingers brushing on the last knot. She pulls hers back quickly, letting him finish it by himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she mutters quietly, averting her eyes as soon as he lifts his to her face. Her cheeks are flushed, skin a splotchy pink all the way down her neck. Her blonde hair almost golden, illuminated by the sunlight streaming in from above.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He stumbles a step back, suddenly realizing how close they were standing. Curling one hand into a fist and breathing through it, he shoulders his backpack higher, nodding his head towards the stairs. “Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke holds out the flashlight, pointing it down at the darkness. Every step is ribbed, and the steel clunks loudly under their boots as they move down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somebody yells from above, catching their attention and making their head snaps up, catching the back end of the sentence, “—out, Madi, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It happens fast. Sand filters down, next rubble from the back wall starts to cave in, and then suddenly half the roof is crumbling in on itself. His feet start to slip, and Clarke tries to reach for his hand, but then both of them are tumbling down the rest of the stairs surrounded by a fog of dust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Run,” he grumbles, helping her to feet quickly as they move further down the space, away from the stairs and the falling debris. Eventually Clarke hits a wall, nowhere left to go, and the sudden stand still in the darkness means he knocks into her, both of them smacking into the floor harshly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily, the building stops caving and the deafening noise around them dies down to just their own heavy breathing, trying to catch it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy groans, holding his side as he rolls into his back, hacking up half a lung as the cloud of the dust starts to settle around them. “Are you okay?” He asks, still coughing as he shifts to look at Clarke, pointing the flashlight somehow still gripped tightly in his hand into her general direction. There’s a small cut on her cheekbone, and streaks of dirt covering every bare space of skin, but she looks relatively fine considering the fall they just took.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she sputters, clearing her throat as her chest moves up and down heavily, pushing away some hair from her forehead. Her eyes dart over his face slowly, looking for any signs of injury. “You?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he admits, begrudgingly, suddenly realizing the gravity of their situation as he turns his eyes back to the stairs, reduced to a single platform, the rest covered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both of them lay there silently, looking up at their only known exit and previous source of light, now just a hill of debris staring back at them through the dark. A few streaks of light still slip through some cracks, but not enough to highlight anymore than the mess they’re in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The radio crackles from the back of Bellamy’s backpack and he rushes onto his knees to start digging through it. In all their misery, he half-forgot about it. “Em?” He exclaims, holding his breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy —” He closes his eyes in relief at the sound of her steady voice. If he didn’t know her so well, he almost wouldn’t recognize the small lining of panic weaved through it. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re fine,” he presses quickly, eyes flicking over to Clarke briefly. She’s now sitting beside him on her knees, at a more-than-polite distance still, her hands resting on her thighs as she worries her bottom lip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Rover went down with you guys and right now the structure seems too unstable for us to start to try and dig you guys out.” A beat. “I’m trying to contact Raven, see if they found any equipment that can help us get you out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods slowly, even though she can’t see him, head already spinning with what the most logical step is for them to take next. It makes sense to wait for their resident genius and hopefully some better digging equipment than a handful of shovels. They can’t risk the rest of the building caving in on them. They could look for a different exit, but considering the building was buried under layers of sand, it doesn’t seem likely they’ll be getting out of here without any heavier machinery. Waiting seems pointless, the thought of it making his skin itch in a way it hasn’t in so long, not after being stuck in a tin can in space for six years and being forced to develop a dainty little thing called patience. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can feel her eyes burn in the side of his face, but he doesn’t dare look at her. He still has to wrap his head around being stuck here with her for who knows how long. “Bellamy—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He already knows what she wants to know, lifting the radio back up to his mouth without even having to listen to the rest of her sentence. “What about you? Madi?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re good,” Emori answers, followed by a small snort. “She almost took a deep-dive, but we got away in time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke opens her mouth, blue eyes uneasy, like she wants to know more but isn't really sure if they're in a position for her to be making demands, but then there’s a crackle of static on the other end of the radio and suddenly Madi is urging, eye-roll implied, “I’m totally fine, Clarke.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Bellamy answers with a sigh of relief. Clarke’s nails are no longer pressing into the skin just above her knees, and her shoulders relax more.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m analyzing the rest of the structure, and it seems like it’ll hold.” Never one to cower from the truth, “Uhm, for now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy rubs small circles in his forehead with the pad of his palm, hoping to relieve some of the tension starting to build there. What is it about him and Clarke and fucking Finagle’s law? They’re not even talking, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and now he’s stuck in a place that could choose to collapse on them any moment in time with </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “How about we try and save the batteries. Contact every hour?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emori answers affirmatively, and Bellamy resigns to stuffing the radio into his backpack, rising to his feet with a sigh. He’s barely set two steps into the direction of the dark curvy hallway next to the wall they just headfirst slid into, when Clarke’s voice rings out, wary, “Where are you going?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns, continuing walking backwards. “Even if the others by some miracle find any equipment to dig us out of this mess, it’ll take them at least a few hours to get here.” He raises an eyebrow, a challenge there. He’s better if he keeps busy anyway. Less time to mope about the fact the two of them are making noises that resemble words but not saying anything. “We might as well explore this place while we’re here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If it reminds him of a day trip they might or might not have taken many, many moons ago — a memory that never fails to bring him comfort even on the worst of his worst days — Clarke doesn’t need to know. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She follows him without any more protest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s freezing,” she murmurs to no one in particular as they move down the hall, the sound startling him despite it’s softness. He didn’t really expect her to speak again, unless prompted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hallway curves until they’re standing in front of a huge open space, a pathway of blue splitting it in half, either side covered with wire basket after wire basket filled with supplies. Random supplies ranging from sponges to spatulas to candle holders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The further they wander down the path, the more shows up, rooms plotted off with tall muted yellow walls, dividing them based on the different functions they hold. There’s rooms, rooms filled with couches and tables and televisions. Rooms filled with counters and cabinets, and ovens and faucets. Rooms filled with toilets, and showers and towels. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re both so ecstatic with their find, he forgets about the tension between them, smiling brightly at her as he holds up a stack of blankets. They’re a little dusty, but they’re fuzzy and warm and he’s forgotten the simple pleasure of holding a </span>
  <em>
    <span>blanket</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “We could’ve used a place like this a few years ago.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her fingers tighten around one of the notebooks she’d been carting through. Previously covered in plastic, the paper’s only looks to have yellowed a little. Clarke returns his smile half-heartedly, corners of her mouth turning down quickly and sadly. “It’s been more than a few, Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s more of the ‘everything they’re not saying’ bullshit, and it considerably dampens the excitement previously running wild through their veins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he says after a beat, voice rough, then shakes his head to himself, tearing his eyes off her. For some reason she won’t let him forget that too much time has stretched between them, and neither of them know how to handle it. “I guess so.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silently, they follow the black footprints on the blue pathway and move into the next set of rooms. One of them has a desk with a computer, and an</span>
  <em>
    <span> actual </span>
  </em>
  <span>bookcase. Not being able to help himself, Bellamy pulls one out, and there’s definitely letters he recognizes, but the words don’t make any sense. </span>
  <em>
    <span>M</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>än som Hatar Kvinnor</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Disappointment swells in his chest, and he tsks, thumbing through it wistfully. “I wish I knew this language.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s still time,” Clarke muses, leaning against the fake wall beside the desk, arms crossed over her chest. The smile is back, real this time. At least she’s trying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They continue on, aisle after aisle, past beds with mattresses and fluffy pillows and more, thicker looking blankets, past kitchen tables and lamps and rugs, past cribs and glow-in-the-dark stars and stuffed animals. Clarke picks up a yellow labrador the size of her head, dusts it off with her hand. It remains a dirty brown shade of gold, but it’s the closest they’ve ever been to finding stuff like this. Non-survival necessary stuff. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Luxurious </span>
  </em>
  <span>products. Not stuff they need, but want. Soft and almost wistful, stroking it’s ear absentmindedly, she notes, “Madi would like this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He picks up a crocodile with a tutu on, grinning to himself. It’s absurd, really, but he’s into it. His eyes flick back towards the stuffed animal in her hands. “She likes dogs?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke lets out a huff of quiet laughter. “She’d like him more if he had two extra heads.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyebrows jump, fingers freezing on the scratchy tulle skirt. “You told her about that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tilts her head slightly and his heart swells at the realisation she’s finally looking him in the eye for longer than two seconds. “At one point I ran out of heroic stories.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you stole mine?” Bellamy can’t help but tease, shit-eating smirk on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s really on you for never shutting up about them,” she throws back smoothly, eyebrows rising further towards her hairline. She’s aged a little, but not in a bad way. She’s as beautiful as ever, all soft-looking skin and pretty ocean eyes, even in shitty flashlight lighting and covered in dirt. Her nose a little red from the chill down here. “Besides are they really yours when they’ve been around for centuries?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I popularized them obviously,” Bellamy presses, and he counts the small snort she lets out as a win, even if all that follows after is another awkward silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They wander further down the blue path, weaving through the building. He almost knocks Clarke over again as she comes to a stop, staring up ahead. He follows her gaze, his eyes widening in what he’s sure is very comical. In front of them, there’s some sort of large, tall hangar of aisle after aisle with boxes and crates stuffed full with supplies. Walls stretching up at least fifty feet, shelves spanning across either side of them. Clarke points at the blue map on their left, and past the promises of showrooms and market halls, there it says ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>self-serve furniture area’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head feels like it’s spinning and he swallows heavily before opening his mouth. “Holy fuck,” Clarke beats him to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he answers a little breathlessly, still trying to take all of it in. This is quite literally the Apocalypse version of Bingo. They could build a community with all of these items, use what’s still working and repurpose what isn’t. Raven will have a stroke when she finds out. “You could say that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The both of them wander of seperately, exploring the different aisles for a few moments before meeting back by the map wordlessly. By then, it’s been hours since they got locked down here, their hard work digging during the day and their long journey exploring this place finally starting to settle heavily in their bones. Their bodies gravitate back past potted plastic plants and tacky wall decorations silently, towards the bedroom area.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy throws his backpack on one of the beds, deciding to check in with Emori one more time before they take a small nap. Clarke’s eyes flick over to his hands as soon as he’s dug out the radio, then her brow furrows and she’s moving away to sit down with her back towards him, a few beds over, unlacing her boots with way more force than necessary. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The radio crackles as he turns it on, and he can’t look away from Clarke as she throws the dust-covered floral comforter off the bed and loudly rips open a new one, the plastic cover noisy as she discards it carelessly somewhere behind her. There’s a tension in her shoulders he recognizes all too well, he just doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it’s killing him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He informs Emori about their find, and he half-heartedly listens to her talk about her and Madi’s day for a few minute, even though his eyes keep flicking over to Clarke’s stiff movements as she angrily makes the bed. At least he doesn’t miss the most important part, something about a storm brewing in the West and the other team laying low for a while, and, “Raven said that as soon as they can take flight they will. They’re about three hours out, but she thinks she found a way to break the bunker out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he affirms distractedly, his mind needing a while to process anything right now, too preoccupied with reasons why Clarke could be mad with him this time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A loud scoff, and then, “So that means you guys too, dumbass.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know,” he responds with a sigh, shaking his head lightly as he presses his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, like the physical pressure will somehow help clear his mind. He blames the inability for him to shut off any and all unreasonable and intrusive thoughts on his exhaustion. He just wants — a lot of things. Mostly, probably, to sleep. Either way, he wants this conversation to end. “Clarke, do you want to speak to Madi? Emori said she’s asleep but she could—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she cuts him off quickly, straightening by the side of the bed. She flinches at her own tone, wiping her hands on the back of her thighs as she lower her voice with a clearing of her throat, “I’ll see her soon. She needs her rest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> understand</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He didn’t used to have to try to understand. They just did. And he fears that if he doesn’t understand her, the same could be said for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy blurts out a way too authoritative sounding, “Em, I gotta go. Check-in in four hours?” He doesn’t even technically wait for an answer, already tossing the radio beside his bag on one of the dust-covered beds. It bounces slightly, with a few quiet thuds, before silence wraps around them again. Not comfortable silence, no. They’re no longer capable of just existing in each other’s proximity. Everything feels loaded, heavy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He figures he should let it go. His head</span>
  <em>
    <span> screams</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him to let it go. It’s been a long day for the both of them, hell, it’s been a long decade, and maybe she just needs some space after having so much of it for so long. They’re re-acclimating to each other, to having to navigate this thing together again, and he’s probably crowding the life she built for her and Madi in their absence, and he’s too much or never enough. But a worse part of him, something selfish and prideful, finds it stings. How badly she wants to get away from him, how she shuts him out and pushes him away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s why he can’t help but prod at the scar, hoping it’ll tear right open. Leaning back against a tall powder pink boxspring as he toes off his own boots, he manages to keep his mouth shut for all of ten seconds. “Can’t wait to get out of here, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke stiffens again, back towards him as she fiddles with a metal flask of water, movements almost wooden. “We’re stuck in an underground building, hours away from hypothermia and with rations that won’t even last us for two whole days, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Bellamy,” she shoots him a quick narrowed glance over her shoulder, as if to make a point, tossing the canteen onto the mattress in front of her, “I want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not it,” he spits back, speaking before he even realizes he is. She might be close to yelling, but it’s not silence. This is good, this is them getting somewhere. Bellamy inhales sharply through his nose, already knowing he’s right as a bitter tone coats his voice, “It’s me you want to get away from.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turns, protectively crossing her arms over her chest. “Like you don’t want to get back to your </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would’ve thought it was a good point, if it not for the way she said the last word, like it left a bad taste in her mouth. Here it is, the discomfort, the distance, the tension — it’s all been leading here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do,” he agrees, resignation all over his face as he holds up his hands in the air, a desperate plea to make her see he doesn’t want it to be like this. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fight, but for the first time since he came down he’s realizing maybe they have to. “That’s not the point. The point is you can’t even look in me in the eye—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I called you!” Clarke blurts out, dropping her arms. Surprise covers her face, like she hadn’t meant to say it. But he knows her, she won’t take it back now. She’s not a coward. Her fingers curl inwards, and she grimaces for just a second. “Everyday on the radio, for six years.” She presses her lips together, then shakes her head lightly, “But I guess you never got my messages.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes him a second to process the blow. He tilts his head slightly, eyes softening with remorse and longing and grief, all over the past. “That’s not fair.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time since he got back down, her voice wavers, her fists uncurling at her sides as if resigning. “None of this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s teeth grind together painfully. “You think I </span>
  <em>
    <span>chose</span>
  </em>
  <span> to leave you behind?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every time he closes his eyes, he can still see the door close. He can still see her walking away from him, leaving imprints in the snow. He can still hear her voice, ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hurry</span>
  </em>
  <span>’. All the things he didn’t say, had to keep bottled up inside for the past six years because no one really understood. The only person who did, she was dead. And now she isn’t. Now she is standing here, right in front of him, close enough to touch, and the distance between them has never felt this big. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, but it still happened,” Clarke retorts, swallowing tightly, jaw flexing as if she’s holding something back, her mouth settling into a twisted sneer, as if holding something against him. “I still have feelings about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So do I, Clarke!” Fuck. His expression twists briefly as he curses himself, throwing his hands up slightly before scrubbing them over his face as he tries to calm himself down enough to keep his voice steady. He’s not angry with her, he reminds himself, She’s not doing this to antagonize him. It’s just the aforementioned </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There’s so many, sometimes he feels like he’s imploding with them. “I have lots of feelings about it, but you can’t even look at me long enough for me to finish a sentence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hangs her head, glaring at nothing. “It’s been a long day,” she dismisses him, easy, and he hates how much of the same </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> it is. She decides. Decides when they talk, when they don’t. “I’m tired.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His nostrils flare, but he stands there, silent, staring at her as she gets down under the covers, turning her back on him yet again. Something snaps inside of him. He didn’t finally get her back for it to be like this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roughly, he pulls up the other side of the blanket, sliding in behind her. He’s careful not to touch her, because there’s boundaries and then there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>boundaries</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he’s sure as hell not leaving this bed until she actually has the decency to finish a conversation with him. If she gets to be stubborn, so does he.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke freezes, sounding wary. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What does it look like I’m doing?” He grumbles back. “Sleeping.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turns slowly, so she’s facing him. Fingers tight around the top of the blanket, knuckles a pale white. It’s another few seconds of her staring him down before she presses, one eyebrow curved in annoyance, “In this bed?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he answers coolly, firmly closing his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She kicks him in the shin, and his eyes spring open in a glare, “There’s at least twenty other beds in this place.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This one is the comfiest,” Bellamy snaps, almost snootily before he snuggles closer to the duvet, knowing he has to give her a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>reason too if he wants to end this argument. One of many, but the one he wants to have the least. “Besides, I thought we were </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours</span>
  </em>
  <span> away from hypothermia.” He arches a brow. “Didn’t you always go around camp yelling about body heat and the buddy system?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s just a soft scoff, her lips pressing together in a thin line like somehow going down a path of nostalgia is some sort of sacred line she won’t cross, and he knows he’s won when she closes her eyes like she’s making a point. It’s a few minutes before he dares to speak, letting her stew on it a little, her frustration rolling off of her in palpable waves. He sighs loudly, exhausted in a completely different way all at once. “What’s up, Clarke?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” She mutters, eyes still closed and face a blank slate. A stray of hair has weaved it’s way across her forehead, and his fingers itch from holding back from her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Softer than he’d meant it to come out, his throat feeling kind of scratchy all of a sudden, he wonders, “What’s really going on?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her blue eyes flutter open slowly. From this angle, they’re barely lit by the flashlight and he has to try hard to make out her face. He still tries, raking her features as she collects her thoughts in the quiet between them. He doesn’t miss the way she grits her teeth after a long minute, “You made a decision. Which — I get that is no longer something we do together.” He opens his mouth to protest, brows furrowed together, but she quickly continues talking before he can say anything, voice thick with emotion, “But this is my home. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Madi’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> home. You bombed half of it with no concern for the consequences.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s like a slap in the face. He needs a second to recuperate, turning onto his back haltingly as he tugs on the front of his hair, staring up at the ceiling. It seemed so simple in the moment. They had Clarke. It was either her or them. There was never a choice to make. The rest, they could figure out later. “They were going to kill you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I asked you to use your head, Bellamy,” she murmurs, low, and he doesn’t think he did anything wrong, but his cheeks still burn with shame. His head shifts on the cool pillow to face her, a sharp pain settling smack in the middle of his chest as she adds, shakily, her forehead creasing, “You couldn’t even do that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last six years?” He pushes himself up on his elbows, frowning down at her. He didn’t have her. He didn’t have a choice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The point is my life means nothing if there’s no valley for us to live in, for Madi to grow up in,” she grunts, lifting herself up in a similar matter. There’s some underlying anger, frustration, first, like she doesn’t get how he still doesn’t understand, then her tone turns more controlled, defeated, “And now we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>here.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She says it like an insult. “Stuck in some sort of — ancient </span>
  <em>
    <span>mall </span>
  </em>
  <span>because we couldn’t open the bunker and you bombed the only ship that could have helped us get them out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’ll take some of the blame for this, if she wants him to. Even if they did end up finding more supplies than they could’ve ever dreamed of, she’s right. If they still had the Eligius ship, a mining colony, they could’ve gotten his sister and their people out by now. The problem is he won’t apologize for saving her life. After losing Clarke… He promised himself, that if he ever had the slightest of possibilities to save someone he cared about, he would. He didn’t, with her, and he regretted it every day. He should’ve found a way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care what you say,” he states simply, irritated even, at how </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span> still doesn’t seem to understand. He drops back down, crossing his arms over his chest as he glares up at the ceiling. He’s disappointed to find out that, even after six years, she still doesn’t value her own life. He’ll value it for the both of them, if that is what it takes. “Your life will always matter more. It’s not a negotiation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can feel her gaze on the side of his face, can practically imagine the lines of thought on her forehead. It’s hard to dissect her tone, all simple and frosty, like they’re building towards another blow-up. “Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He inhales sharply. “Why what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another sort of frustrated sound from her, and out of the corner of his eye he can tell she’s running a hand through her hair. “You lived just fine without me for the past six years, thinking I was dead. So why even—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head turns sharply, leaving no room for argument, “Because I’m not losing you again.” Yeah, he worked through the loss. The first year, there wasn’t a night that went by without him waking up in a cold sweat. Letting her go out there on her own, not even telling her what he wanted to the most, closing the door, taking off flight, leaving her behind when she saved them all — there wasn’t a single thing he wouldn’t have done differently if ever given the chance. The terrors faded though, with time, and so did the sharp ache in the middle of his chest whenever he thought about her, which was regularly. But they never went away completely. The sting dulled, didn’t burn as often, but it was always there, simmering lowly. Not having her, that was just another thing he had to live with now. He figured that would be his punishment for as long as he lived. Missing her. Leading without </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Not when the first time nearly killed me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course he knew that maybe over the years, he romanticized her in the same way the stories his mom used to read to him had been, everything bigger and greater and more heroic than reality. Torturing himself for losing her. It’s hard to see the bad things about someone, their faults, after you lose them, but it wasn’t that. He remembered the horrible things too, maybe even more so, more clearly even. Charlotte. The bomb in Tondc. Lexa at Mount Weather. Refusing to come home when he needed her the most. That godawful fight, and the cuffs. The relentless self-sacrificing. And none of them seemed as bad, when he didn’t even get to be mad at her for any of it anymore. When he didn’t get to yell at her, see her lip curl up in disdain, her eyes shine with defiance. It didn’t seem as important as it had in the moments themselves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he came back down, found out she survived out here by herself for over half a decade. Not knowing if they were alive, what she was doing it for. Just her and Madi. He came back down, and knew then, that it wasn’t romanticisation. God, he almost burst out in laughter at the sight of her, because<em> of course</em>. Clarke — she really just was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>great. Special. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, she just keeps on surprising him, the next question she asks feeling weirdly out of place, like she is having a different conversation than him. “What about Echo?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinks at her in the dark, his voice strange and flat when he prods, “What about her?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what,” she cuts in, clipped, although to her credit her face remains passive. “I see how she looks at you.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing there.” He’s being a dick. He knows and he can’t stop. She probably still carries resentment towards her for everything that happened six years ago with Azgeda, but it’s not in him not to tease her, “You seem interested though, so full disclosure—” he squints at her, like he’s having difficulty remembering. “Me and Harper hooked up a few times when she and Monty were on a break. He and I kissed, too, which was kind of weird because he was just trying to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> jealous and then I was suddenly just a pawn in their foreplay.” He can laugh about it now, even relish in the small smile Clarke tries to stifle, even if there’s still a shiver running down his spine at the memory. It was awkward. Both of them fighting over him when who they really wanted was each other. “And me and Emori dated out of spite for about three months, trying to piss Murphy off. But I never touched Echo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t say he never noticed that maybe she wanted him to, but he would never go there. It was hard enough, working towards forgiving her. And it’d be too easy, to let himself love someone like her, see it as some sort of fucked up penance for all the things he’d done wrong, all the mistakes he’d made. Some sort of reminder that this was all he’d ever deserve, to be with the woman who killed his girlfriend, stabbed his sister, got to live when his best friend didn't. But he’d worked hard on forgiving himself, spent a lot of lonely nights self-reflecting and recognizing that he was just human too, turning all his self-hatred and lust for making himself feel the absolute most miserable into something more productive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(That, and one of those lonely nights Raven dropping down opposite of him with what was left-over off their only bottle of moonshine and telling him shit like “</span>
  <em>
    <span>moping isn’t sexy, not even on you</span>
  </em>
  <span>” and “</span>
  <em>
    <span>the whole self-martyr thing is getting boring".</span>
  </em>
  <span> She always did give the best reality-checks.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bitterly, like somehow it’s worse, Clarke grits out, “But she’s your friend.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like they’d been friends once, he supposes. Him and Clarke. But that was different. Not just different from him and Echo, but from anyone else in his life. Always had been. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy shakes his head slightly, one arm pressed against his side over the blankets and the other scrubbing over his jaw. He doesn’t really have an excuse for forgiving her, or giving her a second chance. He just remembers finding the person he hated the most in the world on the verge of suicide, and a very long time ago, what one girl in the woods who didn’t like </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> very much did for him when all he could see was his faults and how they'd turned him into a monster. “We were stuck in a confined space for six years. Weirdly enough, it’s kind of hard to hold grudges over someone stabbing your sister when you want to murder everyone around you for breathing too hard.” She laughs, quiet but genuine, and he finds himself chuckling along, “It gives you new perspective.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Must suck, right?” She says, barely a whisper, once their laughter has faded and the air’s turned heavier again. He can hear her swallow. “Being stuck in a confined space again after just escaping the last one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not really.” He smirks, turning back on his side and folding one hand under his pillow, right where his cheek rests. His other fingers curl tightly around the edge of the blanket, just trying to keep from reaching out for her. “It’s kind of nice. Just me and you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me and you,” she echoes, holding his gaze, like somehow those two little words mean more than anything else they’ve said all night.                                                                                                                                                                    . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels it too, in the way his pulse speeds up, and his throat starts to tighten, and his chest constricts painfully. At the forefront, his admiration for her. Not just as his long lost co-leader, or the girl who saved them all. As a person. “You did a really great job, you know. Raising Madi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke arches a brow, unimpressed and unabashed by his praise like always. “You could tell that from all of the two minutes you’ve spent with her?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need to spend time with her to know that.” He licks his lips, hesisting, knowing the next thing he’ll say, no matter how much he believes it, will start of the next conversation they need to have, “I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her easier attitude from moments ago immediately deflates, and there’s a light tremble in her bottom lip, but to her credit, this time she doesn’t avert her eyes away from his. “It’s been a long time, Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pinches the bridge of his nose briefly, not even sure where to start. Time — it’s what’s been separating them. And he guesses it is possible that they turned into different people in each other’s absence, that there is so much they no longer </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he doesn’t believe that’s what they are with each other. He doesn’t need to be someone else with her. For all his flaws and offenses and even weaknesses, she’s never judged him. He could still be that for her, too. “I thought you were dead.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her presence brings him comfort, even as she’s quiet, lets him work through the old grief in peace. Even if she didn’t know if they were okay, if she left thousands of unanswered messages and lived with uncertainty for years, she still had hope. That somehow, they made it. They survived. They were okay. They were coming back. There was, no matter how small or big, a chance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For him, there wasn’t. He watched earth as it went up in flames. There’s no way she could’ve survived the explosions. The fire. The radiation. But she did. And now they’re here. In a bed in some old underground mall, trying not to be strangers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grinds his jaw pensively, until he finds a way to put it into words. “You have to understand what it felt like seeing you again. Years I spent telling myself there was nothing I could’ve done.” His molars feel like they might snap in half at any moment. “That I would do better, to do right by you. To make sure you didn’t die for nothing.” Bellamy inhales deeply, trying to get himself to calm down, so his thoughts aren’t as jumbled and he can translate them to her in a way they make sense. “Getting you back —” He shakes his head slightly to himself, licking his lips, "Everything makes sense now. I can’t make the same mistakes again." She’s still quiet, biting on the inside of her cheek, and he can tell it’s costing her a lot, so he continues, even if each word physically pains him. They always told each other the truth, about him, about her, but not about </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Never this. They always avoided it. But it ended them here, so they must have been doing something wrong. He’s taking a chance. “I get why you might feel like we’re different now. We probably are.” Her forehead creases, and there’s a small intake of breath, and he needs to explain it better, “But I want to hear all your stories. How you survived, how you met Madi, how you two build this life together — all of it. I want to know you again, like I did before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her breaths come out heavier than before, like it’s fight or flight and she’s going against her instincts. “The same mistakes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He inches closer, just a little, despite knowing he might be pushing it. “I love you.” Bellamy can tell how much it startles her, her entire body freezing up, but he has to keep going, “Despite everything, I still do. I should’ve told you earlier, should’ve told you so many times but I pushed it away for so long. I couldn’t even admit it to myself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, she opens her mouth, and he can already hear all the protests she could possibly come up with, and now he’s started, he can’t stop. “Then I came down and saw you were alive — and it all came rushing right back in—” Feeling almost giddy with all of this sudden freedom now he’s finally admitting all of this to someone else but the four walls of his sleeping quarters, he lets out a small huff of breath, the ghost of a laugh. “Like you were asking if I was the one with the gun all over again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy,” she breathes, and it sounds pained, something flashing across her eyes that is pleading him to stop, but he physically can’t seem to restrain himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes sting with tears, of how difficult this all has been without her, all the regrets and the long nights and the aching, but he pushes them back. He can’t change the past. “And this time, I’m not letting you go. I’ll handcuff myself to you if I have to.” Her lip wobbles, but she breaks out into a watery smile as she inclines her head at him, almost as if she’s calling him a dick with just her eyes, and he chuckles, at how familiar this all feels, at how right this is, finally daring to reach out, thumbing away the tear rolling down her soft cheek. He can’t stop grinning. “I’m serious, I don’t care, none of this has to be mutual. You’re just stuck with me forever now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s laughing, and he hadn’t realized how much he truly missed the sound until now. He makes a move to pull his hand back, not wanting to push it, but her cold fingers come up to wrap around his wrist, keeping him in place as she leans into his touch. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Space has given you brain damage,” she teases, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this light in his life before, “I’m Wanheda, remember? I could saw off your hand in your sleep without even opening my eyes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taking a page out of his book, she’s poking fun at old hurt like all of it doesn’t feel as bad as it used to. It spreads a hopeful warmth all through his chest, makes him feel so — content. Knowing she’s worked through it, like him, through all every shitty card she’d been dealt, the heavy shit, the trauma. That she has a peace of mind, like she deserves to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t,” he retorts, easily, eyebrows raising, and he’s just ribbing her, but it also sounds sincere and warmer now he’s rediscovering the depths of his fondness for her. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> my hands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was half-joking, but she smiles, cheeks heated under his touch as she slings an arm over her eyes as if embarrassed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He stores that information away for later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy could honestly take it. He survived being without her, he can survive being by her side again knowing she only sees him as a friend. Partner. But he can’t survive his impatience for the truth. Feels like it might suffocate him if he doesn’t speak. “Is it?” He urges, just a little awkward, clearing his throat, “you know. Mutual?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Clarke’s arm drops back down, but her fingers linger around his wrist again as she leans forward. Slowly, just a few inches closer to his pillow first. Then another few, resting her forehead against his. Her eyes briefly flutter shut, grip tightening around his wrist as she  but he can’t bear to do the same, can’t tear his eyes off her in case this is the last time he gets to have her like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her breath is warm across his face, in stark juxtaposition with her skin. Clarke’s eyes open, and he’s so distracted by mapping every little detail of her irises, he nearly misses it when she speaks. “I want to hear all your stories too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His stomach flips, and his heart soars, and a million other stupid metaphors for what he feels all boil down to one simple thing; </span>
  <em>
    <span>relief</span>
  </em>
  <span>. (He could’ve survived, could’ve gotten through the embarrassment and wanting the ground to swallow him up whole, through it all just to be by her side. He just wasn’t sure if he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead of just discussing this further, like actual normally-functioning adults, he leans into the whole, this ‘being them’ thing. Today’s been long enough. “It was really on me, you know,” he muses, obviously amused, thumb caressing her cheek gently. “For ever doubting Clarke Griffin couldn’t handle a tiny little apocalypse.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke half-heartedly rolls her eyes, smile playing on her lips anyway. “I didn’t do it by myself.” Then she lets out a small frustrated breath, and he can tell it costs her something, but she says, “Calling you, it might sound crazy but — it kept me sane.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘S not crazy,” he comforts her, hand sliding into her soft hair, smoothing it down by her temple with one finger, as he tries to stifle a smirk. “Little pathetic maybe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She laughs, drawing his eyes back into her face, and it’s the best fucking sound he’s ever heard. He didn’t just miss it. It’s better than the Rover’s revv, or something as simple as the first drop of a fresh rainfall, or Monty’s voice telling them the fucking algae farm (finally) broke again. It’s his </span>
  <em>
    <span>favorite </span>
  </em>
  <span>sound. It’s coming home. It’s believing in good things again. A future worth living. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then she’s tugging him closer, pressing her mouth against his, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah,</span>
  </em>
  <span> as long as it’s up to him, he’s living a long and very happy life with her by his side. They’ve died enough between to two of them to last a lifetime.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once short on air, they pull back, and her hand is still cupping his cheek, her thumb running over his lips absentmindedly before her forehead creases again, because well, she’s still Clarke. And he loves her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you—” She starts, biting down her lip, half embarrassed as she pants against his mouth, still out of breath from </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It figures she’s ashamed about this, even though her tongue was literally just down his throat. “Can you hold me?" She clears her throat when he doesn't immediately agree. "I’m still cold.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” he relents, leaning up to press a kiss against her forehead. He laughs quietly against her skin, suddenly remembering something he wasn’t in a place to ask her about before. “Hey. Do you know why Madi kept sending me daggers?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She thought —” Clarke pulls back a little, sheepish as her hand moves down, resting on top of his bicep as his thumb's moved back to rest over the dent in her chin. He doesn’t think he can stop touching her now he’s started. She takes in a deep breath, lifting her shoulders slightly as if she doesn’t get it either, “Over the years she built up this whole fantasy in her head of you sweeping in like prince charming and confessing your eternal love for me at first sight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He teeth roll over his bottom lip before he presses both of them together, trying to keep from letting out an amused chuckle, “All of that from your bed-time stories?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She raises her eyebrows, as if seeing right through him. “It’s quite a story.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My bad,” he confesses, hand on her face moving down to her shoulder and then further back, rubbing lightly in between her shoulder blades. She wasn’t lying about being cold. If it happens to bring them even closer together, well. It’s been too long, since he had her in his arms. His smirk grows, “I didn’t realize she wanted me to do that at </span>
  <em>
    <span>first</span>
  </em>
  <span> sight, considering you were a little tied up and all. I was saving it for a special occasion.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiles, adjusting in his hold enough so she can bury her face in his neck, nose cold against his skin. “Yeah, being locked inside a building together not knowing if we’ll ever make it out. Sounds perfect to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grins, kissing the top of her head, and tightening his hold on her as he continues to rub her back, get her to warm up. She distractedly draws little shapes into the arm of his jacket with her fingernail. It’s quiet, a nice, comforting silence as they process what just happened between them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “I guess — she thought you and Emori —” Clarke starts, making frustrated little sounds at the way she can’t seem to form a whole sentence in one go. “She was confused, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course she was,” he argues, confidently, like this whole conversation has been the reason behind the most pathetic of mental downward spirals he’s been on the past seven years. Being a dick is still second nature to him, at least the reassurance of that can give Clarke some comfort he figures. “I thought it was pretty clear from everything we’ve been through that there’s only ever been one option for us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke leans her weight back against his arm a little, creating more room for her to tilt her head back to look up at him. The corners of her mouth are turned up almost smugly, her tone demanding, “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s already half laughing, failing terribly at trying to remain serious, “I swear to God if you make me say the word ‘together’—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She angles her head back up to connect her mouth to his, her hair tickling his face. It’s slower than their other kiss — because there’s multitudes now, and twenty-three year old Bellamy really didn’t know what was coming for him — and her lips are soft under his. She doesn’t speak immediately after they pull away, pecking his lips a few more times before she breathes, her eyes fluttering open just a second later, “I love you too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Her blue eyes turn anxious, probably unsure about his reaction, but he knows she means it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy gives her a closed-lipped smile, pushing her hair away from her face but only after getting distracted on the way there, running a finger down the slope of her nose. “I am sorry, you know. About the Valley.” It fades just a little, his brows furrowing together. “I should’ve asked for your opinion. I just got so used to doing this without you—” He swallows heavily. “I never want it to be like that again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And now it doesn’t have to be,” she promises, pressing closer to him as if somehow the physical reminder of her being here in his arms will help him realize that this is real. It helps. “I’m right here.” A quick kiss over his heart, on his shirt, before she rests her head there, and then she’s reaffirming, unwavering through every word, “And you’re home now.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i dont really know when things start to like, decay? i just know almost everything is made of plastic and plastic is forever so please recyle also yes to bellamy literally prefering to stick his dick into the algae farm to echo. the way it should have been!</p><p>if you want to summon satan together in my grandmas attic with virgin blood, puppy teeth and new born baby hair all in the name of blarke endgame only to find out we've literally summoned jason rothenberg find me <a href="http://www.captaindaddykru.tumblr.com">here</a> or if you insist <a href="http://www.twitter.com/captaindaddykru">here</a> or just come say hi.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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